


Gunpowder, Smoke and Home

by WhiteBeakedRaven



Series: of freedom and chains [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ? - Freeform, Administrator Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Explosions, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Long-Haired Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mental Breakdown, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29567169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteBeakedRaven/pseuds/WhiteBeakedRaven
Summary: He's gone. He's free.Dream has successfully escaped and now tries to find his footing back in the wild, maybe finally catching some shut-eye during the process.Things however don't always go exactly as planned and the prison may have left more marks than anyone could have expected.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), only mentioned - Relationship
Series: of freedom and chains [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2171616
Comments: 20
Kudos: 413





	Gunpowder, Smoke and Home

**Author's Note:**

> Soo, I said that there might be a continuation and here it is.  
> Thanks for all of the kind words and a major thank you at Tumblr user @isaamsmrts for being a great motivator and supporter! Without her this series wouldn't even exist.
> 
> Also, please heed the tags.  
> Enjoy!

The plains biome was peaceful, as it had always been. No player had ever crossed its grass and disturbed its mobs. No turmoil had ever grazed these lands and no blood had ever been spilled. It was idyllic, only the natural order to be found here.

As a direct cause of this, there was a big lack of any obvious magic in this land. The only magic that prowled here, for all to see, was the magic of the night, with the undead that walked the earth, together with their sneaky exploding brethren and the out of place existences of the endermen. All of which were uninterested in the normal mobs.

So, it was peaceful. Was.

Without a sound a new existence materialized out of thin air, only to gracelessly fall to his hands and knees, panting from exertion. The left-over admin magic dissipated back into the world, as a continuous dribble of blood ran down the nose of the scuffed green man, spoiling the once clean land.

The mobs took notice of this invader of their formerly peaceful lands. But since the sun was still high in the sky, the only mobs present gave the newcomer a curious glance, before continuing grazing the fresh grass. And maybe they made a bit of a berth around him, but who knew for certain.

Dream certainly took no notice, trying to get fresh air back into his heaving lungs. He had overdone it with the teleport. He had overdone it with everything since he came to his realization. And now his body finally paid the price. No matter how far he ran past his limits, they always caught up with him in the end.

The Admin spit out another dry breath, letting his nosebleed continue to tarnish the grass beneath him and lifted his head lightly, tired but watchful eyes searching for dangers. He was met with the sight of a herd of horses, rearing their heads at the sudden scrutiny, cows giving him curious glances while chewing at their own paces and sheep just completely ignoring him in favour of removing grass after grass from their surrounding fields. Distantly he could hear the clucking of chicken and the running of water from a nearby river, but nothing of apparent danger.

Satisfied, Dream let himself fall limply onto his side, giving his quivering limbs the rest they deserved. The dripping of blood slowed slightly thanks to the new position but didn’t stop completely. A loud sigh escaped Dreams battered and exhausted body, causing even the nearby sheep to stop for a short moment in their grazing, only to go right back at it. His breathing had finally normalized, even though the sting of his fast pace beforehand hadn’t left his lungs completely yet.

Tired green eyes, the colour of the surrounding fields and forests, with a smudge of golden brown in the middle, closed slowly, body relaxing for the first time in way too long. Only now did all the pains and bruises, that even the canon-respawn hadn’t fixed, call for attention. Being the master that he was, Dream took short notes of everything aching, only to promptly ignore it in favour of feeling grass blades on his open skin and cheek.

He took a deep breath, smelling the leftover dew of the morning and the herby earth, trying to clear the last taste of smoke and blood out of his system. At the exhale he fell even more limp, as if he was trying to let the earth consume him, to be even more a part of his world.

Dimly he let his mind run along the connections to his land, thoughts slowing now that the adrenaline had run its course.

He heard the heartbeat of every mob around him, pulsing their own rhythms, creating a drumming symphony that was somehow reassuring to listen to. Every step they took, some of them inconspicuously trying to get closer to the new green lump, felt like the tickle of an ant on his skin. The warmth of the sun flowed around him and warmed the chilled core in his body, only to nicely cool down his sweaty and heated skin by the playful tugging of the wind.

This was a peace he hadn’t felt for way too long.

He was a part of the earth, feeling the slow grinding of stone underneath him and the languid streams of lava he immediately ignored, in favour of hearing the squeaking of the bats in their hidden caves. With another thought he soared on the wings of the birds in the sky, tasting freedom not even an elytra could truly give, only to switch to the buzzing and bumbling of the bees at a nearby flower patch.

A mob had stepped even closer to his relaxed body, but he was distracted by the sweet flavour of nectar and honey in the beehive.

When was the last time he ate something sweet?

Dream couldn’t recall.

Raw potatoes were all he had in prison and before that his main sources of food had been stacks of cooked steak and the metallic bittersweet of golden apples. Maybe he could finally switch up his diet a bit? At that thought his empty stomach gave a hopeful grumble.

What kind of recipes did he know? He faintly remembered days of old, of cooking stews and baking pies together with George, Sapnap and Bad. Sometimes Callahan and Alyssa had joined. Ponk had been a rare sight, as focused as he was on his lemon tree. The same with Purpled and his UFO. Oh, and of course Sam was also…

A distinct hissing brought him out of his memories. Immediately Dream's mind latched onto the presence of the creeper that had snuck up to him.

He didn’t have time to move, helpless and tired as he was on the ground. But he wasn’t allowed to die. The notification would inform everyone on the SMP of the ruse they had all just fallen into, starting the hunt once again. They would drag him back to the prison, bring him back under the control of the Warden and throw him into the cell he had just escaped from.

Desperation shot through him at the split-second thought of going back, coupled with immense fear.

Immediately the shallow link of an Admin observing was intensified into a reckless attempt of control. Dream's mind crushed the small spark of sentience that existed in the mob, blanketing it in his will without a chance of resistance.

The hissing sputtered and tapered out, as the tall gangly body of the creeper stopped seemingly all movement next to Dream, while still pulsing worryingly with a light from within.

Dream heaved himself on jittering limbs to his feet, mind split in trying to keep control of the dangerous mob that was so close to exploding and directing his own body into safety. He stumbled away on shaking legs like a newborn fawn, trying to get distance as fast as possible. As soon as he was what he deemed far enough away, Dream released the Creeper from his control, hauling his fractured mind back home with a splitting headache.

The explosion disrupted the peace behind his hurrying back, spreading heat and the smell of gunpowder over the fields.

Dream came to an abrupt stop, clutching his now severely aching head and bending over, trying to calm his racing heart. He watched disappointedly with a down tilted head, the steady drip of crimson that had started up again, after his nosebleed had finally stopped.

That was close.

\-----

Night came faster than he would have liked.

After the scare that had been the creeper, Dream threw away the idea of rest until he was somewhere secure. Instead, the rest of the day was spent foraging for materials and food, crafting tools and a bit of armor.

He stayed on the plains, not going deeper than a chunk or so into open caves, wary of the dark and the dangers it certainly held. Until he was in better condition, he would play it safe. At least that was the reason he told himself, not paying any mind to the slight fear the thought of being surrounded by darkened stone brought him.

As the sun tipped slowly to its rest for the night, Dream took a short check into his inventory. He had all kinds of different stone tools, one metal axe, a flint and steel he had used with wary hands, lots of stone, dirt and some unsmelted iron ore and the coal he could use for it, as well as some cooked meat and a few apples that he had already hungrily consumed some from. His thirst was stilled completely for the first time in weeks by the river, as well as having a hastily crafted glass bottle of water in his inventory, if it returned.

The list of his inventory went on, but he had all the essentials. He was set for the first few days, if nothing went wrong.

Now to find somewhere to spend the night.

Shielding his eyes from the low hanging sun, Dream took a look around. The plains biome stretched out with open fields in one way, dipping below the horizon before he could see any change in scenery. The other sides were surrounded by forests, oak and birch trees circling around the area Dream was in. To the left was the big river he had drunk from, while on the right some lonely spruces were mixed into the forest. The spruce trees gained in popularity the more he looked to the edge of the horizon, where snow tipped mountains were visible, cutting through the clouds with an imposing manner.

After a short moment of deliberation, Dream headed for the mountains.

There he could get an overlay of the land, without being surprised by the mobs of the forest, while at the same time not being completely out in the open like on the plains.

\-----

His new pickaxe found good use, halfway up one of the peaks of the mountainous region.

A new crawlspace, one block high, was burrowed into its stone side, only to be expanded into an open room about a chunk in. Torches lit up Dreams new temporary base, making the gruff stone walls and the new, slightly dusty floor visible.

It reminded Dream strongly of his old base near Tommy’s hill, just way less cluttered.

A chest, a happily crackling furnace and a crafting table were the only other occupants of the room at the moment. As the pushed back exhaustion of the day began to slow his movements, Dream used the last of the three, to make something he hadn’t in a while.

A bed.

He had more than enough wood and wool for the process, taking care while letting the innate magic of the crafting system do most of the work for him. He placed it down as soon as it had completely taken shape, looking at the new stark white sheets with a mixture of relief and a bit of suspicion.

Sleeping hadn’t worked out for him since a long time.

Even before the prison, months before some of the most recent drama had started, sleep had evaded him. He hadn’t been lying to Techno when he said he didn’t sleep. But his status as Admin had allowed him to stay going anyway, taking the missing energy from his surroundings, and keeping him in working order.

Not that it was a complete replacement for sleep, but he made due.

Without those missing hours of the night, Dream could accomplish more than someone bound to a sleep schedule. But it still frayed his nerves slightly over time. Especially in prison, his inability to rest, to shut down his thoughts just for a little while, had taken its toll. It had made his stay there seem so much longer.

But this wasn’t the prison.

This was his freshly carved base. He was safe here. He should be. No one knew where he was. No one knew he was still alive. It was lighted enough that no mobs would spawn. They couldn’t reach him through his crawlspace. Except…

Dream quickly closed off the entrance to the way out with a dirt block.

Now certainly nothing could reach him. Even Philzas natural enemy, the baby zombies, wouldn’t be able to come in now. He was completely safe. He should be.

And still his fingers wouldn’t stop their light trembling when unlatching his new iron armor. The chestplate went first, falling to the ground in a dull clang, no energy left to make the effort to remove it properly.

The iron boots were next. He sat down on his new bed, to relieve his still sore feet from the only protection they had since a while. Dream internally winces at the state of them, the skin of his soles purple with bruises and partially healed cuts, splotchy red blisters having formed on his ankles and heels now, due to not being used to his new boots. Or not having taken the effort to make some socks.

The rest of his body wasn’t in any better shape, but Dream was too tired to pay attention to it now.

He removed carefully the dark green hooded mantle he always spawned in with, thankful that he had set it as his standard clothing for spawning. His former tight fitted black T-shirt he wore underneath, didn’t cling to his form anymore. Instead, it showed clearly how much of his body had lost weight. He was even able to count his ribs, if he pulled his shirt up.

Downwards it wasn’t any better. The belt from which he removed a small satchel, intended to keep small amounts of items, was a few holes tighter then before the prison. It rested on hip bones that were way more pronounced, sticking out sharply underneath his pale skin. His already naturally loose dark pants, to allow for better running and movement, seemed bigger than they were more than two months ago, swamping him slightly.

This time there was no mask to remove, there hadn’t been in a while.

He still however had to free his dirty blond hair from his ties. It had grown longer, now reaching his shoulders easily, if not pulled back somehow. Slight curls framed his face after being released from their bind, showing up on the sides of his vision. He combed them with his fingers, untangling them lightly, and removing a few small leaves and sticks.

Was he glad that his facial hair hadn’t fully developed yet. Because of the slow growth of the hair on his chin and the fact that he had often taken dips in the glowing lava, any attempt of his body to grow a beard had been burned off, due to him not really counting on that part of his body during respawns. But it still left overly smooth skin from countless burns, whose scars were going to take a while or another few respawns to completely vanish. Not that the second was an option for him anymore, if he wanted to stay hidden. The same could be said for all the other scars and wounds he had gathered during his stay.

He really had changed, during his stopover at Pandora’s Vault.

Dream tried to pay it no mind, flickering dimly from one thought to another. He cautiously lifted his new sheets and lay down in his newly crafted bed, intending on letting his bone deep exhaustion take him to the lands of sleep and maybe finally do, what his name implied.

He had no such luck.

Every time his thoughts finally seemed to grow quieter, consciousness dimming, they snapped back to their normal strength, bringing him back to full alertness.

Maybe it was the bed? It just seemed too soft.

Not that the softness didn’t feel heavenly on his battered body, but it was such a dichotomy to the hard stone he had spent the last weeks on, that it just seemed wrong. And that feeling of wrongness may be keeping him from sleep.

So, with a tired grumble, Dream got up again and crafted with his leftover wool a few carpets. He placed them on the slightly dusty floor, only to take his blanket from the bed and let himself lay on top of them.

This was much more familiar.

The slight discomfort of the hard floor may be a bit dampened through the carpets, but every single crease and bump, be it from the carpet or the stone underneath, reminded him of the obsidian floors he used to lay on.

He remembered dimly the first… probably two weeks there. Back then he had still been in good physical condition, making him too big of a danger to not restrain. Chains had decorated his four limbs, the shackles being connected in two pairs, only to be interconnected through another link between the hand- and footcuffs. Enchantments had perpetually glown on the metal, ensuring the unbreaking of the restraints, as well as binding them to him, even if he respawned.

During visits his hands had been cuffed together in front, as well as during the instances where he was supposed to eat and sometimes write, since Sam had been around on those occasions. The rest of the time his arms had been restrained on his back, limiting his movements and making certain he wouldn’t try anything.

It had made laying down so much harder, since he could only lay on his stomach to avoid the pain of the chains and cuffs digging into his body. A position that he really hadn’t liked on the warm hard ground, since it had made breathing the smoky air so much harder.

He had also never truly escaped the cuffs burrowing into the flesh of his wrists and ankles whenever he had to get up from the floor again. Pale scars, faint now after so many respawns, still decorated his skin like bracelets, where unforgiving metal had split open the surface of his body.

And sitting had just been plain impossible without pain.

Luckily, after those two weeks the Warden had deemed it safe enough to remove them, only taking them out as punishment for when he misbehaved.

Dream shivered slightly at the memory of being restrained in such a way, for so long. He had always been a very active person, always moving or fidgeting, so limiting that possibility for him had certainly not been nice.

Just to make certain, Dream moved his hand out from under the blanket, moving it through the air in front of his face, from one side to the other. Clearing any doubt of not being restricted. He sighed lightly and let his hand fall back onto the blanket.

He then tried to go back to sleep.

Only to be thrown back into the unending cycle of thoughts dimming, consciousness slipping and a sudden painfully awake alertness. Over and over it happened, his exhausted body screaming for rest, dragging his cognition down slowly and certainly, only to be denied at the tipping point by a brain that suddenly spiked in activity.

If Dream hadn’t already been dead tired, this process probably would have drained him of all his remaining energy.

It was during another one of those cycles, where he was almost at the edge of sleep, that he smelled it.

Smoke.

Just a bit, a small whiff in the air, but it was enough. Abruptly, he was almost wide awake, sitting up and coughing out the cloying smell, only to get more of it into his lungs, this time stronger, with the next inhale. He tried to push it out again, tried to get a breath of fresh air, but the smell was everywhere, rapping up in intensity.

Dream quickly stood up, coughing and shaking, panic spreading through his shaking limbs.

_Where is the exit, where is the exit, where is the exit…?_

He had to get out. He had to get out of here. He had to find fresh air.

The stone walls seemed darker than before, enough to give him flashes of shining black and purple stone. The seemingly obsidian walls seemed to press down on him. Seemed to want to restrain him. His breath hitched and went even faster.

_Where is it, where is it, where is it…_

He couldn’t find it. He couldn’t find an exit. There was no hole in the walls to escape through. He was stuck.

Dream turned to the closest wall and scrambled uselessly against the stone walls. Nails breaking, fingers starting to bleed. Dream didn’t care. He had to get out.

The scratching soon evolved into punching, hitting stone with his bare knuckles, in the hope of getting out. Sweat covered him completely, as fast panicked breaths echoed loudly in his prison, heart racing along with it.

_Have to get out, get out, get out…_

Blood ran unnoticed down his trembling hands. It dripped down to stone, creating an oh so quiet noise. Dream heard it very loudly anyway, bringing flashes of glowing crying purple to the forefront. The sound of fire seemed to mix into it, followed by the bubbling of lava. The unsteady flickering of the torches let way too familiar shadows dance over the walls.

_I’m trapped, trapped, trapped…_

Pure panic and fear churned inside Dream’s gut, bringing the taste of vomit to his tongue. His breathing was light and too fast, dark spots dancing in his vision, while the edges became grey and black. Salty tears leaked unnoticed out of the corner of his eyes, contributing to the dripping noise.

The punching stopped when his knees gave up in supporting his weight, a lack of oxygen sapping their strength. He slipped down with his body against the wall that was painted red with his actions.

He kneeled limply, body leaned fully against the stone blocking his escape, being supported through it in staying somewhat upright. The cool surface felt warm against his flushed and sweaty skin, seemingly being heated by unimaginable amounts of lava.

He panted pathetically in his self-carved room, seeing and not seeing it, reality overlapping with memories, overlapping with experiences, that had been his only world for so long. He weakly moved his arms, phantom weights of restraints holding him down, impending his freedom. Gravity seemed to have grown stronger, keeping him locked in his position, unseeing eyes trying desperately to find a way out.

Far off, so quietly it was hardly noticeable, the ticking of a clock made him twitch periodically.

_Please help, help, help…_

Fingers, already abused to hell, started to scratch unseeingly at his apparent cuffs, in a desperate attempt to get them off. They succeeded in smearing blood from broken nails and breaking the lightly scarred skin of his wrists, letting more crimson flow.

_Sapnap, George, Sapnap, George, Sapnap, George..._

He just wanted peace. He only wanted peace. Let him have peace. Why did it go so wrong? Why did everything have to go so wrong?

_Please, please, please…_

He just wanted to stop hurting all the time.

_Anyone…?_

Dreams vision had turned almost to black, as his heated body just tried to get oxygen in somehow. Rhythm too fast, too shallow. Panic, fear and desperation clouded everything. There was nothing to help him.

Nothing.

And no one.

Until somehow, through all the pain and confusion, he heard something. Through all the noises, the dripping and crackling, the ticking and bubbling, something came through.

Gurgling. The flow of water.

The sound was quiet, but it broke through the illusion of the other sounds. Dimly Dream took notice of it. He lifted his hanging head, almost blind eyes focusing on the spot it was the loudest.

Water, flowing water. Such an unfitting sound in between all the others. It reminded him of something. Something good. Something positive.

It was a way out.

Even though his body lacked the oxygen it really needed, even though his mind was clouded with everything and nothing at once, something clicked inside of Dream. On autopilot he summoned the pickaxe from his inventory, years of survival making it possible with minimal thought.

He swung it at where the water was the loudest. A dull crack echoed through his room. He swung again. Another crack. And again. Crack. Again. Crack…

He mined the stone, slowly but surely, mind split, caught in illusions and memories, as well as being focused on that one sound that meant help. That one sound that meant safety.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The block broke. And the one behind it. And the other one behind it. Muscle memory from thousands of mining sessions serving as the only way he could possibly still work.

Then the last block broke with a loud crack. Water suddenly streamed inside.

He was completely submerged in the new artificial waterfall. The sudden cold shocked Dreams core, as the wet flow cooled his sweaty and overheated body. Washing away the blood that marked him, only to leave his new wounds bare to see. Wiping away the salty tears, that hadn’t stopped their flow.

There never was cold water in the prison. Only lukewarm one. There was no flow as well, only still-standing liquid. And it certainly wasn’t pure, always easily dirtied with a pink tinge, while this tasted like mountain and cooling freshness.

And far off, in the back of his mind, the sound of flowing water tickled the memories of a room under a lake. A good room. Somewhere where he had been safe. His, from a time where things had been so much easier.

Home.

It was enough to snap Dream out of the overlapping illusions of his cell, the contradiction giving his brain something to latch on to. Consciousness slowly clawed its way to the forefront and with it, logical thought.

As soon as Dream had come to, as far as was possible, he swam slightly out of the steady pillar of water, gasping loudly for air. He realized his irrational fast pace of breath almost immediately, almost matching his thundering heart. He knew he had to slow it down. Holding his breath he submerged himself again. He came back up shortly afterwards, to get some more air, only to dive back down.

He continued this process until his breath had stabilized into a light panting, his dizziness clearing together with his sight. His racing heart had calmed slightly with his actions as well, not thundering away like a horse in a dead sprint anymore.

Body again under control and mind partially cleared from the fear and panic, Dream squeezed his eyes closed and let out a shuddering sigh. He opened them soon after.

For the time being Dream elected to stay in the water flooding his room.

Only now could he really take in what was going on around him. The carpet and blanket on the floor were being soaked, floating lightly in the few inches of water. The bed had luckily been mostly spared from his panic attack and the following waterfall, still mostly dry and looking oh so inviting. His new iron armor was also mostly unbothered by everything, laying on the floor and letting the water puddles lap at the shining material. Lastly, one of his torches had been completely extinguished, dunking the cavern in partial shadows. The black piece of coal on a stick had been taken from its original perch and flooded into a corner.

A sudden thought made Dream snap his head towards the last remaining torch. It happily crackled away, causing a shiver up Dreams spine at the sound and spreading its light above the furnace, that had finally finished smelting the iron. Both of them released dark wisps of smoke, the torch in miniscule amounts, while the furnace let off a considerably bigger quantity, since it was slowly extinguishing itself, its work done.

Dream sighed deeply and let himself fall further into the water, drained of everything.

“Fuck”, he said with feeling.

Tomorrow he will deal with that.

\----

The next day saw a green clad haggard man, who still hadn’t managed a wink of sleep, at a lava pool. Drops of his still wet clothing hissing in the molten stone on contact.

Dream was armed with a flint and steel and a water bucket, working fast and methodically, just like the old days. The Nether portal took shape within an impressive amount of time, experience and muscle memory making it easier.

If he kept on suppressing a flinch, with each louder pop of the lava, nobody was there to notice. If he, after the portal was done, turned the lava lake into a plate of obsidian, only to cover it with dirt, nobody was there to witness it. If his fingers trembled slightly, while lighting the portal with a flint and steel, nobody was there to care.

He was alone. And he knew it.

So Dream took a deep breath, before stepping into the swirling purple of the gateway, letting memories of all the times he did this in the past wash over him.

However, this time the intent wasn’t to get in and out as fast as possible, only in search of some blaze rods and maybe some lucky pearls.

No, this time the search was on for something way more important. For something Dream himself desperately needed. He was intent on securing some glowstone.

A base without smoke seemed to be a must for him, for the time being.

**Author's Note:**

> Second official work, let's go!
> 
> As before, constructive criticism is more than welcome, since I'm still trying to find my footing, and tell me what you think in the comments below!
> 
> And before anyone wonders, yes, I have more ideas planned, but I have to see how things work out. So any extra motivation is always welcome.


End file.
